I must run up and see if he is awake."
Mrs. Tams saw the stains on Rachel's cheeks, but she could not mention
them. Rachel had an impulse to fall on Mrs. Tams' enormous breast and
weep. But the conventions of domesticity were far too strong for
her also. Mrs. Tams was the general servant; what Louis occasionally
called "the esteemed skivvy." Once Mrs. Tams had been wife, mother,
grandmother, victim, slave, diplomatist, serpent, heroine. Once she
had bent from morn till night under the terrific weight of a million
perils and responsibilities. Once she could never be sure of her next
meal, or the roof over her head, or her skin, or even her bones. Once
she had been the last resource and refuge not merely of a house, but
of half a street, and she had had a remedy for every ill, a balm
for every wound. But now she was safe, out of harm's way. She had no
responsibilities worth a rap. She had everything an old woman ought
to desire. And yet the silly old woman felt a lack, as she impotently
watched Rachel leave the kitchen. Perhaps she wanted her eye blacked,
or the menace of a policeman, or a child down with diphtheria, to
remind her that the world revolved.
CHAPTER XIII
DEAD-LOCK
I
Louis had wakened up a few minutes before Rachel returned to
the bedroom from that most wonderfully conscientious spell of
silver-cleaning.
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